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| BIG NEWS
11:30 - I get back from brunch to find a message from the hospital on the answering machine, my favorite nurse practitioner (Sue) sighing, "Oh, I really wish you'd answer your phone, Michele..." She tells me there's been a cancellation and a surgeon can see me tomorrow for my surgical biopsy.
11:35 - I finally reach a live person at the hospital. She tells me I'm in if I can get my patooty to Michigan by 3 pm. It's over 3 hours' drive, and the border crossing can be sketchy, but I say, "I'll take it!!"
11:50 - Mom and I are winded from the packing frenzy and hit the road. The border crossing only takes 40 minutes (not bad) and one of the guards, hearing my deadline, waves us through to the next place in line for paying toll, saving us about 15 precious minutes.
3:00 - I walk into the "Nuclear Medicine" department to be injected with radioactive dye. I'm told to sign in. Exact time at the moment? Precisely three o'clock. God is SO good!
I'll be heading back to the hospital in a few minutes for imaging--just to make sure the dye got to the lymph nodes.
8:45 tomorrow morning - Back for some microscopic imaging to have two small wires inserted into the middle of the two groupings of tiny calcifications that have the doctors worried. They're so small that the surgeon will simply follow these wires to them and take out the flesh around them.
10:00 tomorrow morning - I'll be put completely under and be in surgery for about 2 hours, plus wakeup time. The doctors will remove several lymph nodes (anywhere from 4 to 12) from under my arm, as well as the calcifications. This will be a deeper anesthetic than I had for my MAC surgery (McSurgery).
PLEASE PRAY:
- For successful procedures
- For an easy wakeup
- For an eventless recovery (there can be some painful side-effects to lymph node removal, like excessive swelling under the arm)
- For NO CANCER to be found in the lymph nodes. If there IS cancer there, a mastectomy and radiation and chemo will be mandated, because it will indicate that the cancer has begun to spread. Because of the need for radiation, there would be no reconstruction until later, rather than at the time of the first surgery. I'd obviously be happier if the cancer were still localized...please pray to that end
What a miraculous series of events led to this appointment, two full weeks earlier than originally scheduled! I'm thrilled to be in this motel again, writing to you about the latest developments. This is one more BIG step toward a full understanding of my condition AND recovery! 
I'll end with a short collection of my favorite pictures from this past week with my brother. He and his family left at 5 this morning--and since I couldn't get back to sleep, I spent the next few hours cleaning the house! I know!! Totally un-me! But at least it was squeaky clean when the call came, so we'll be returning to a pleasant place tomorrow or the day after...
Here are the pics:
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| HURRY UP, ALREADY!I would lounge in strangers’ homes, when I was in college, having devoured everything I could find in the pantry, deliberately ignoring the vacuum and cleaning supplies at my feet, and listening with a sort of rabid attention to a disembodied voice dramatically droning: “Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.” Cue music and opening credits.
While my employer was out shopping or at the gym, I would sit on her bed in the master bedroom watching soap operas and trying to convince myself that it was okay to put off my cleaning duties until I found out if Cruse and Eden would finally figure out that they were trapped in a parallel universe, if Marlena would realize that Roman’s spirit was reincarnated in his horse, or if Taylor would ever make it back from the fictional middle-eastern country where she was being held as an amnesiac harem-member. Ah, the drama of it all! Housecleaning, paid or unpaid, has never been a forte, and my college years (when an addiction to my newly discovered soaps overrode my spit-shine ambitions) did nothing to increase my affection for the sport.
The “sands through the hourglass” have been running slower than ever these days—or so it feels. When I wrote my last entry, I was waiting for the hospital to set a date for my upcoming surgical biopsy. The call, when it finally came, was dismaying. The surgical schedule is full until Aug. 6. That’s three more weeks of waiting…and waiting…and waiting…while my life feels dismally put on hold.
Toby impatiently waiting for his master to arrive home--canine impatience!
Yes, he is indeed the size of a small horse.
And yet…waiting can be a productive endeavor. It’s true for stock markets, for sunsets and for chastity. For cancer surgery too, if it’s done right. Mind you, I haven’t entirely embraced the August 6th delay! I’ve put in a request to jump into the next cancellation the surgeon receives, and I hope and pray it will miraculously happen, but in the meantime…
All it took was 24 hours to get my brother, sister-in-law and mother hooked on Facebook!
Apple should pay us advertising dividends for this picture...
I’ve been able to spend this week with my brother and his family. I’ve been able to give some more thought to the nature of this disease and the consequences (good and bad) of its treatment. I’ve been able to wrap my mind around the simple phrase that usually slams home in the seconds after I open my eyes in the morning: I have breast cancer. I’ve been able to contemplate the Truths that will accompany me through the journey ahead:
- I possess God’s strength within me
- I have been immeasurably blessed for 40 years
- I know who I am because I know Whose I am
- Though I am going through this “unattached,” I am not going through this alone
- My life has served and will serve a purpose
- There is nothing still to come that God hasn’t already explored
- BFA will still be there in a few months—I need to spend this time making myself well enough to return
That last one was among the hardest truths to grasp. On the day I had to write to the school to inform the personnel department that I’d probably be missing the first semester of classes, I felt that I was somehow betraying them. I’ve had the time to “revisit” that feeling and frame it in a realistic light. BFA isn’t going anywhere, and the best I can do for the school is return in full health. Still…I was so thrilled, just a month ago, to be getting the school play back after four years of not directing it. I was so excited that Squirt (Alyssa K) had actually joined choir after vowing that she would never, ever, ever, ever, ever sing in one!!! I was so eager to start teaching acting again, to get back to teaching Prose and Poetry, to step back into the dorm (even a guys’ dorm) and get baking/chatting again…
 Lydia, Owen and Corbin...the fam.
Please continue to pray:
- For a quicker return to surgery, if possible.
- For no sign of cancer in the two additional “clusters” they’re removing OR in the lymph nodes. (Cancer in either of those would mean mandatory mastectomy.)
- For wisdom as I decide on the final surgery’s nature: given the prognosis of a lumpectomy vs. a mastectomy (15% recurrence vs. 5% recurrence), I’m starting to wonder if I shouldn’t be safe and just opt for the latter, regardless of the biopsy results.
- For patience for this patient. It doesn’t come naturally!
Your prayers continue to carry me and your love continues to uphold and soothe me. Thank you—with all of my heart—for both.
OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS OF IMPATIENCE:
(I gave Lydia, Owen and Corbin the "impatience illustrator" assignment this morning)
Ingrid putting up with Toby's flying water and sand after a long swim and roll
on the beach (the dog--not Ingrid!).
 Lydia doing her part to illustrate impatience--with some annoying help from Owen.
Corbin not-so-patiently waiting for his brother to pass the fries.
Owen, too impatient to wait before biting into a sizzling fry...and paying the consequences! | | |
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TODAY'S HOSPITAL VISIT
I walked into the University of Michigan Comprehensive Cancer Center at
8 o’clock this morning and didn’t leave until nearly 6. I spent the
morning having more ultrasound imaging and 14 additional x-rays, then
spent a good bit of the afternoon consulting with nurses and doctors.
Good news: Their initial assessment was that I need to have a complete
mastectomy. You can imagine how difficult it was for me to breathe for
a while after hearing that news. But once I started to absorb the
information, I also started to make my peace with it. HOWEVER...after all the
specialists met in what they call a "tumor
board," they decided to
postpone the mastectomy until they had done a few more biopsies.
They'll be taking out portions of two more hot-spots (discovered
today--not the mass biopsied last time) and several lymph nodes. If
there is cancer in any of those, a
mastectomy will be the best course of action, followed by chemo and
possibly radiation. If they're clear, we might still be able to keep
the
treatment to a lumpectomy and radiation. There's a small glimmer of hope
and I'm clinging to it! Please pray along those lines too...
Sobering news: I need to hope and pray for the best, but begin to process the other too.
Non-news: It'll be another couple of weeks before I know anything for sure.
(More thoughts below...)
WEEK ONE - THE JOURNEY BEGINS
These have been long days of waiting, but good days—days for evaluating, constructing and grieving. I find myself facing the upcoming, protracted battle with a clear mind and a steady heart. I know that shouldn’t be the case, from a strictly human point of view, but God’s promise in Philippians to guard our hearts and minds seems to be availing itself to me in a miraculous way.
The first four days after diagnosis were truly difficult. I lived them in a surreal state of numbness, being broadsided again and again by the multi-faceted repercussions of this disease. I nourished my lack of information with online research and breast cancer chat rooms and a nearly constant calling on God for sustenance. I was bathed in the words and tears and support of my closest friends reaching me from Canada, the States and Germany. The knowledge that prayers were going up on my behalf literally around the globe by friends and strangers was a shield against the winds of incomprehension that tried to sway my faith. The image of God grieving for me even as He “armored” me for this battle was my comfort and my strength.
There was never despair. There was fear and there was rebellion. There was laughter too and a healthy dose of irony. There were tears that burst from me unexpectedly, usually accompanied by a wordless plea for God’s help, whatever may come. And then Wednesday came. I felt a lightening of the weightiness in my spirit, a greater clarity in my mind. I have a wonderful cousin who is possibly the world’s most boisterous optimist. He called me that afternoon and, when I hung up the phone, I KNEW that I had turned a corner. The fog of shock had lifted and I was fully myself again. Thank you, Fred, for cheerleading me back into the world of the living! It’s a good place to be.
The final shove into lightness of spirit and clarity of thought came from a student named Kristoff. Back in January, at the beginning of my first battle against cancer, he made his patented “cookie-pops” for my Creative Writing class and designed one just for me:
It reads "Poop on cancer," and I’m thinking of getting it made into a
t-shirt to wear to all my future appointments!
Kristoff wasn’t undone by Cancer #2. He launched into full Kristoffian mode and started a group on Facebook that made me giggle myself silly. It’s entitled, “Those for Miss Phoenix getting the heck married before she finally cops out” and currently boasts of 61 members. I think he meant to say “before she finally checks out,” but he’s an MK, and MKs have trouble with idioms!  For those of you unfamiliar with the world of Facebook, these groups aren't anything more than a means to pledge one's loyalty, but still... The inventiveness and funniness of it all still makes me laugh out loud! New members welcome! 
(With Kristoff, after the Junior-Senior Banquet in May.)
The introduction to the group reads:
“sometimes, nature has a way of nudging us in a certain direction. i think we can
all agree that it seems fairly obvious that two bouts of cancer at middle age
to a single woman as grand as miss phiphi is quite a hefty shove in the direction
of speedy and holy matrimony. and sometimes, we like to resist these. so let’s
help nature push miss phiphi right over. just like on that tram in prague!”
[Note: he’s referring to a tram ride during which the driver took off so fast that I was
knocked on my keester. The choir boys standing right behind me did nothing to catch my fall
(heaven forbid) and merely parted like the Red Sea as I plummeted to the floor!]
There has been a lot more giggling since my diagnosis. A lot more praying. A lot more bracing for the weeks ahead.
While I wait, I continue to dwell on the important things in life:
Things that make me giggle – The Facebook group (which ironically boasts of no single, middle-aged male members who might actually allow it to serve a purpose!), the antics of a Labrador fetching sticks on the beach, emails from kindred spirits, ridiculous cancer jokes (mostly unpublishable here!), and the prospect of buying a blond Dolly Parton wig (if it comes to that) to fly in the face of breast cancer—how ironic would that be?!
Things that make me stronger – Walking into the bathroom each morning to see verses and quotes for the day, written in my mom’s hand, taped to the mirror. She has been a vulnerable and determined anchor to me, and I can’t imagine journeying through this without her steadfast presence by my side.
Things that make me certain – On the night I was diagnosed, a dear friend in Florence (SC) whisked me away to her peaceful and beautiful back porch for a few moments together. At that point, the shock of the news had sent me into a full-fledged ulcer “attack.” (I’ve had ulcers for about 4 years, and they’ve mostly been under control.) I was wracked with tremors and so severely nauseous that I couldn’t really make the effort to speak. Deb simply sat in the chair next to mine on that warm South Carolina night, with a nearby fountain’s music softening my spirit, and read scripture after scripture to me. It was an experience that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. One verse she read was from Psalm 84:
(5) Blessed are those whose strength is in you,
who have set their hearts on pilgrimage [McJourney].
(7) They go from strength to strength…
They go from strength (Jan. 08: MAC) to strength (July 08: breast cancer). His supply of courage and peace will not run dry.
(12) O LORD Almighty,
blessed is the man who trusts in you.
Blessed is the [woman—the incredibly fortunate woman whose life has been so full of great healing and joy] who trusts in Him.
Some of you have asked for an address. It is:7411 Mud Creek TrailPort Franks, ON N0M 2L0CanadaPlease continue to pray..........
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| SHAKEN BUT TRUSTING(If you're reading on Facebook, please go to the bottom of this post and click "view original post.")
June 5, 2008 – I leave the hospital with “You are cancer-free” ringing in my ears.
July 5, 2008 – Exactly one month later, I pick up the phone in South Carolina to hear a kind and gentle doctor tell me I have breast cancer. I mouth “It’s cancer” to my mom, asked a couple more questions of the soft-spoken physician and hang up the phone.
…thus begins another journey.
This was supposed to be a celebratory trip: taking my new scar (my “cancer-free” badge) to my favorite small town in South Carolina, reuniting with old friends and former students along the way. I never suspected when I arrived in South Carolina how my life's course would change in the days ahead.
About a week before I headed South, I wrote to a dear friend at my Florence church to ask if there was any way he could set up an appointment for me with a doctor there. After so much medical work in the past weeks, it seemed almost redundant, but I had a strong urge to make sure that there was nothing else wrong with me before heading back to Germany.
Miraculously, Greg got me an appointment during the July 4th holiday week with one of the most prominent and respected physicians in the area. I had the physical, he said I seemed to be in great health, told me to stop picking at the suture sticking out of my cheek’s scar (I know, I know), and sent me off to the nearest hospital for a routine mammogram.
The hospital tracked me down the next morning and told me to come in immediately for further tests. Things snowballed from there and the life I had thought was about to settle down suddenly turned inside out again. More mammograms, an ultrasound and a painful biopsy later, I went home to my friends’ house to wait for results. They came yesterday, on a Saturday when most of the hospital’s staff was gone, but my wonderful doctor arranged for rush analysis and called in the results from his vacation home.
…………I’m not sure how to describe the hours since that phone call. One month—one month since my last surgery, and here I am neck-deep (chest-deep?) in cancer again. Only this is a far cry from MAC. This feels more lethal and more destructive. And too soon. I was just beginning to recover from the last brush with this disease.
Driving today...an apt illustration of the future from this vantage point.
My first thoughts were for my students. Some of their faiths are fragile, and I don’t want this to make them question, to cause the kind of cynicism that is more maiming than cancer. I thought of my niece and nephews and the impact this would have on them. I thought of my poor mom who will, sadly, be onboard for yet another journey into the medical unknown.
I thought of the relief I felt six months ago when I’d learned that MAC did not respond to chemo—and of the vow I’ve made all my life that I would rather risk recurrence than endure the torture of that therapy.
I thought of losing my hair.
I thought of the disfigurement usually caused by this form of cancer, of the scars, of the long-term effects of radiation, of the potential for other hot spots, for other metastases…
And then I thought of the lyrics I wrote for the song I’ve been singing all summer, intended as a tribute to my last journey through cancer:
When peace like a river drifts away
And the sea billows roll, overwhelming my soul
Peace hasn’t drifted, but it has been rattled. It's a little weak around the edges, a little less solid than I want it to be.
From the shadow of the valley, this I will say:
There is Joy in the pain, every loss can be gain.
I’ve clung to that truth since December 31, date of my first diagnosis. And I’ve seen it revealed in more ways than I can count. There has been Joy. There will be Joy. And I’ve seen my first battle bear eternal fruit, not only in my life, but in the lives of those I love most dearly.
The enemy may harm me and try to deceive…
He’s been hard at work trying to do just that—but the name of Jesus is powerful, even when uttered in the middle of the night, lying awake with stomach churning and limbs quaking in shock. “Jesus.” And the world seems to settle a bit. The arms aren’t tangible, but their comfort is real.
…but nothing can disarm me if I believe:
This journey I follow, with its joy and its sorrow,
Is a gift I embrace, for it flows from your grace.
He hasn’t failed me yet. My body has. My health has. He hasn’t.
I will trust in your goodness in my season of weakness
‘Cause it is what it is…
There’s no changing the facts. I have breast cancer. I have breast cancer… The words still startle and appall. It is what it is.
…but I now that You are who You are.
And therein lies the courage and the comfort this new journey will require. The only way through it is forward—resting on His strength.
Though my courage may desert me, you will dwell near
Lending faith to my doubt and hope to my fear.
The lyrics I wrote after MAC became a premonitory prayer. They’re my mantra when the myriad unknowns clamor so loudly that I lose my footing a little. He will dwell near. He will guide and appease. He will go before me, just as He has all along.
Remember the “Journey Pendant” to which I referred a couple blog entries back? I didn’t expect it to sprout a second string! But I choose--right now--to focus on the diamonds of this journey, the blessings embedded in the gold of His sustenance:
- A doctor’s appointment that shouldn’t have been scheduled—not with the odds stacked against it.
- The kindness of nurses and technicians.
- The southern venue in which “honeys” and “sweeties” uttered by strangers were truly a balm.
- The presence of my mother by my side and the comfort-words of friends on two continents when I told them the news.
- Staying with some of my dearest friends, and being able to come out of the back bedroom after the dreaded call and sit on the couch with Pastor Bob to receive the first of many prayers that will accompany me on this journey.
With our dear friend, Anne, three days before I got the news...
God is good. I haven’t doubted it for a moment since December 31st, and I’m not about to start doubting it now. He is the infallible, gentle, powerful and compassionate chain on which this new journey pendant hangs.
I write this while sitting in my mom’s bright red PT Cruiser, cruising (how appropriate) up I-77 from South Carolina toward Canada. I’ve already contacted the University of Michigan, hoping my doctor there can refer me to a breast cancer specialist. I don’t know what the next step will be. Surgery will happen soon. Followed by whatever the doctor suggests. I’m praying it’s not chemo… So much cannot be determined yet, and the control freak in me (who me? really?) wants to know it all NOW. Maybe one of those diamonds on my life’s pendant will be patience. Snowballs in hell might see a resurgence too!
But I’ve taken the most important step already: I’ve notified burger joints across the state of Michigan that they’d better stock up.
I’ll end with a quote I received from Sandee Shuman earlier this week: "Prayer is the slender nerve that moves the mighty hand of God." If Corrie ten Boom could believe it, so will I. I’m counting on yours, whenever you’re moved to pray. For sleep, for peace, for guidance, for miracles...
With determined Joy in this unanticipated journey,
Michele
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| CELEBRATING RUST
There's a perplexing sight along the QEW (highway) between Toronto and Niagara Falls that has fascinated me for years.
It seems a little out of place, don't you think? Especially when you consider that a major highway runs just meters from the unusual sight.
(That's the highway on the left!)
For the first time, my mom and I pulled off the road today to take a closer look at this grounded ship on the shores of Lake Ontario. And what we saw (all burnt wood and rusted metal) was somehow mesmerizing.
And then it was on to the quaint and historical village of Niagara-on-the-Lake. The tiny boutiques, the luxury hotels and the gorgeous floral arrangements everywhere were a sight to behold! And the sundried-tomato-and-chevre-quiche we had for lunch was to die for!
We ended the day in a Days Inn in Rochester, New York, after a lovely meal at Applebee's. The motel is slightly past its prime (ya think?) but it boasts of clean sheets and an air conditioner that runs beautifully on the "full blast" setting.
(Photo is a slight exaggeration...)
Since the beginning of this summer, I've heard one sentence repeated frequently by the nameless person I shall refer to as "The Woman Who Gave Me Birth." More often than not, my effusions of excitement are greeted by a slightly bemused, "It takes so little to keep you happy!" And--I must admit--there's truth to the statement. Rusty ships, decadent quiche, hotels I'll never be able to afford that are so beautiful to look at, birds that sound like cell phones ringing and toads that sound like out-of-tune banjos, Applebee's Buffalo wings and smiley tollbooth operators, emails from long-lost students (thanks, Magster!) and mist covering the water and the beach... It does take so very little.
I am SO grateful for the gift of easy enchantment. It is the salve that heals anxiety and strain. It is the balm that soothes disappointment and despair. It is the transcendent simplicity that allows for contentment in the face of life's great crises. It has gotten me through the worst life has thrown at me--especially when God seemed as distant as the rescue I so craved. If I could find levity in the smallest of nonsensical sights, sounds, and occurrences, I could kinda, sorta, maybe hope for some small brightening in my future.
My point? Seek reasons to celebrate. There may not be rusted ships and misty lakes where you live, but listen for barely perceptible sounds that thrill you and sights that enthrall you. Make note of the minute kindnesses of strangers and the serendipitous occurrences that lend a ray of unexpectedness to days that might otherwise seem nondescript. Decide to be thrilled, commit to acknowledging the "winks" that come our way in the most unexpected places. There's a biblical rationale for it too!
"Finally, brothers (which is a biblical term for "Beloved Morons), whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things"...and celebrate! (Phil. 4:8)
And now it's off to the south. There'll be plenty to celebrate along the way. Hours of driving entertainment listening to Rush Limbaugh's rants...
...careful navigating on the highways and byways of this beautiful country...
...and the wonderful hospitality and humble abodes of our Southern Friends.
And yes--I'll be clapping my hands and cheering for the most ridiculous things along the way, sometimes to the head shaking and eye-rolling of The Woman Who Gave Me Birth!
(More views of Niagara-on-the-Lake...the Prince of Wales hotel and a gorgeous lamppost.)
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